


Life Separates (Those Who Have Loved)

by rosemaldrge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bookshop Owner Remus Lupin, Christmas/New Year, Dubious Ethics, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Memory Loss, Minor James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin & Lily Evans Potter Friendship, Remus Lupin Loves Sirius Black, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius Black Lives, Snow and Ice, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28663887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemaldrge/pseuds/rosemaldrge
Summary: Remus spend a night snowed in at his bookstore with someone he thought was a stranger. Non Magical AU.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68





	Life Separates (Those Who Have Loved)

**Author's Note:**

> For Delia <3

_“Il y a des larmes d'amour qui dureront plus longtemps que les étoiles du ciel.”_

There are tears of love that will last longer than the stars of the sky.

\- Charles Peguy

The notebook that the stranger had been writing in all night slid to the floor. It slipped through his slacked fingers and fell with the sort of finality and flourish of a heap of snow on a branch that could no longer withstand such a burden. It hit the floor with a loud thud, and a mess of papers spilled out of the belly of the worn out notebook. Remus stared at it, uncertain of what to do. 

A soft snore from the man broke the placidity of thoughts racing through Remus’ mind. Remus stared at the papers on the floor for a second before he moved across the small space between them to sort out the mess. He couldn’t sleep anyway, and there was no point for trying. They’d stumbled through the late night territory and were now encroaching the early morning. What else was there to do besides waiting for the amalgam of disasters that had been stacked against him to recede. 

Remus’ fingers moved with uncertainty as he tried to find rhyme or reason to the papers. They were unimportant things it seemed. Receipts, cinema ticket stubs, poems copied on the back of train tickets in cramped writing (The man’s, Remus assumed), pages ripped out of old books (Remus shuddered at that, what kind of maniac would do such a thing?), and a folded cream coloured paper that caught his eyes, because it had Remus’ Spencerian script on it. 

He blinked at it, and there it was still. The paper, in all its folded glory. A letter, Remus supposed, from the way the paper was folded. This time, Remus noticed that the letter was tinged slightly brown on the edges, and the ink had weathered in, like it had been kept in the notebook for a while. Like it had been folded and unfolded with each rising of the day, and the turn of the tides. 

Another soft snore was heard from the man and Remus’ head snapped to look at him. He let his eyes wander, properly looking now that he had been given the chance. All night long he had kept his eyes trained elsewhere. Pretending to be more interested in a copy of Toni Morrison’s Jazz. This wasn’t a fair assessment of the book of course, Remus had reread it so many times, and to tell you the truth, Remus did not think that there existed a book that could compete with the man’s beauty and intriguing personality. 

The man’s skin looked golden underneath the weak fluorescent light, and the shadow under his eyes looked more prominent, darker, and reminiscent of the swindling legs of an unfortunate spider, flattened under a household item. A microwave perhaps, or a thick paperback. Remus had to wonder when the man had last had a proper good night’s sleep. Remus knew that he was in no position to judge; sleep escaped him too like a myriad of snowstorms, destined to disappear with the season. Still. Human nature to be less cruel to oneself et cetera et cetera. 

The plane of the man’s cheeks were sharp, sculpted from harsh planes and bad dreams. There was restlessness in his eyes; they flickered and moved beneath his closed eyelids. They paired ever insolently with his sullen lips. Remus supposed they would be more beautiful if they weren’t the doorsteps of the man’s visible and fervent nightmares. They were rosy, and seemed brilliantly soft even in the barely lit room of Remus’ bookstore office. 

So much so that Remus had the mad urge to just lean forward to press his lips against them. Perhaps it was a good decision to let the man sleep on the lone, beaten-down sofa and him on the floor. 

The rest of the man’s face was in the same stage of unrest:a deep frown between his eyes, a constant tic underneath his left eye, and eyelashes that fluttered ever so slightly with the intake of every breath. His body trembled and shuddered every so often even when Remus had draped him with a spare blanket and his spare coat. It was like witnessing the fall of the last snowflake of the season, beautiful only in suspension, lost forever in a journey that ended as soon as it began. 

Nearly lost in his thought of the man, Remus shook his head and returned to reality. Right, the task on hand or rather, the conundrum. Remus’ hand trembled as he reached for the folded paper, his fingertips almost dancing on the ink that had faded at the creases. The thought of _‘Should I?’_ ran an interspersed cobweb in his mind, and Remus was almost buried in the depth of it when something else caught his sight. 

A phrase from the paper that seemed to scream at him now that Remus was staring at it. Remus blinked at it, and there it was still, in his slanted loopy penmanship, mocking his reality. He blinked at the accursed line a couple more times, and the letters inked for the phrase seemed to waver with interchangeable words, appearing different and indifferent each time. 

Without thinking now, Remus snatched the letter off the floor. The paper shook with his trembling hands as he unfolded it and Remus fought the tremor with the disconcerted lie that everything was fine in his chest. It read,

> _Sirius,_
> 
> _I suppose it’s time that I write all of this down. There are more gaps in my memory these days and I’m certain that I will soon be lost to the land where the unnamed spits fire and prays to the faceless gods for a quick and painless end. Just yesterday I found a whole tree of parsley in my breakfast omelette, roots and dirt and all. It was the least unsavoury ingredient on my plate._
> 
> _I had to call in sick from work to scrub the kitchen clean. It was probably for the best anyway. To be honest, I don’t even remember when I last went out to do a shop. I don’t want to hurt you, and one could easily come to the conclusion that there’s little leap to be made from preparing dishes made of dirt and to accidentally ‘The Way Up to Heaven’-ing you. I think this would be for the best._
> 
> _Apropos to that, it would be awfully, tragically unfair for you to love half of a person; with whom you’d be unable to lay new memories, or reminisce about old beautiful ones that you’ve both made because they lack the capacity to do so. There’s more uncertainties in a day with me than your entire future. I know not what will happen to me but I’m grateful that what I remember of us is more beautiful than anything I could even dream of._
> 
> _Send my love to Prongs and Lils. Hug them for me every time you see them will you?_
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _Remus._

There was nothing left to do but to re-read the letter over and over again until Remus was certain that all the words written were properly consumed, and none of them were the fruits of his dreams. The phrase 'I love you - Remus' was now branded on his thoughts. He read it over, and over again to make certain of the meaning. So much so that he didn’t notice how much time had passed. 

All that he could think about was the implication of the letter. Now that Remus was thinking about it, perhaps it was not a coincidence after all that he was snowed in at his bookstore with this person. This stranger who claimed that he was too preoccupied, too lost in translating _‘Comprenne Qui Voudra//_ Les Feuilles Mortes _’_ behind the shelves for his paper that he didn’t notice that it was way past the time of the shop’s closing.

Remus, who had been in the back room all day, sorting through mountain high stacks of new arrivals that he had let grow hadn’t even noticed that he had any customers that evening. Business was too slow anyway to be just manning the counter out front. It was just past Christmas and the society was in the lull of the phantom period of unreality between it and the New Year’s Eve. 

Families would be at home, Remus supposed, drinking leftover eggnog, and eating post holiday recovery dishes in front of the fireplace or whatever it was people with proper families did. Try as he might, Remus could never remember. It was much easier to assume that he was the one without. Between the stack of books, and the thoughts of families in their cozy homes, he hadn’t realise that it had been snowing rather heavily. That would explain how he had also missed the snow and ice warnings from the Meteorology office. 

Anyhow, the prospect of this year's holiday was not so bad. The Potters, his next door neighbours had been kind enough to invite him over for Christmas dinner. The right term would be, persistent, even. Remus had tried to politely decline, mentioning the bookstore as an excuse, and his poor father, way up in Wales that he had been meaning to visit. 

It had been all lies of course. Remus wouldn’t even bother going even if someone had shoved a free return ticket to Llangwm in his hand. There was something about his father's pitiful look that he had decided he wouldn’t stomach anymore. Lily, or Mrs. Potter, had been kind enough to read between the lines of his lies and had even employed the help of their three year old son Harry. Remus couldn’t help but agree, not even he could say no to Harry’s cute face. 

The dinner was rather lovely, all things considered. 

Now, though, Remus was not quite certain that the sentiment of a lovely holiday for him could be preserved. He sat ever so quietly in front of the pile of papers he could not make sense of and a stranger that could very well not be a stranger at all. He thought about the name _‘Sirius’._ All that he could conjure in his mind was intense feelings of love and happiness which were soured by notes of sadness. Well, that was entirely unhelpful. Not to mention, absolutely barking _mad_. 

This would be why he wouldn’t want to remember, didn’t want to give it a chance, even. Every time a memory that he had lost threatened to break through his brain's temporal lobe, he pushed it down, distanced, and distracted himself. He couldn’t bear to remember the pain, the sadness that he had unnecessarily inflicted on the ones that loved him. He thought he would rather have this semi permanent existent, this relentless suffering; party of one. Just him getting hurt. 

Still, Remus couldn’t help from saying the name out loud, sounding the syllables in his thick Welsh accent, residue of his childhood despite having lived in Charlestown for ages. The name rolled off his tongue easily, beautifully as if the sound of it was something the angels would sing if he ever reached the gates of heaven. It was like the sole reason the name existed, the word even, was for him. For Remus. 

He almost choked on the blinded nostalgia of something that felt so foreign yet tasted so familiar. It blossomed in the depth of his chest, the empty cavern that he had let be with dust and despair for so long that Remus didn’t know what to make of it. So he said it again, and again. Remus desperately felt a desire for something unknown, something that felt very dear to him. But, he was trapped in the infernal fear, broaching into the territory of suffering. 

He got so caught up in it, in his little world built of nothing but this one name, that he almost forgot where he was, and who he was with. 

When the thought dawned on him, he looked up immediately, wanting to discern, to urge any memories to come back. He wanted to look into the face of this man, this purported stranger that so casually breached the sanctuary of his mind and topple over the sanctity of his life and demand something, a sliver of anything to come back. Instead, his eyes met the silver-grey eyes of the stranger. 

“Who’re you?” Remus asked, before his brain could even properly catch up with reality. The man looked at him warily, taking his time to lean forward, closer to Remus, eyeing the mess of paper, the pile of old receipts and ticket stubs, the pages of books, and his notebook upended just next to it. Remus knew what it looked like. Like he was prying, but he couldn’t find it in himself to fucking care at the moment. The man sighed.

“Well, I’m still Padfo-,” the man started, reiterating what he had said not hours ago when they had first talked, and he had introduced himself. Back then, Remus had thought it was rather endearing of him but Remus couldn’t fucking take it anymore. The line between his patience and sanity was left somewhere before he got snowed in with a fucking stranger that turned out to be fucking _not_. 

“No. Don’t give me that bullshit. I don’t want to know your posh public school nickname. Who the fuck are you?” Remus snapped at him.

“Sirius.” The man answered quietly. For reasons that Remus couldn’t possibly fathom, the man’s eyes started to welled up with tears. It broke Remus’ heart but he soldiered on. He needed to know.

  
“Any last name?” Remus spat out, as he continued to glare at the man. Sirius, Remus supposed. If the man wasn’t lying. 

“Lupin.” Sirius said with a strained voice that almost broke off in the end, as if the two syllables took too much of him to say.

“You know very well that’s my last name. Try again won’t you?” Remus said with his last straw of the day.

Instead of answering, the man reached into his jean’s pocket and took out his wallet. He pulled out his driving license and handed it over to Remus quietly. Remus took it with his shaky hands, his eyes not leaving Sirius’ even for a second. 

It was his first mistake of the day, as his fingertips brushed against Sirius’ skin, he felt like he had reached well beneath the earth, all the way into the depth and grasped the currency of the St. Michael’s Ley Line with his bare hands. He almost dropped the card on the floor. Almost, but Remus was somehow more emboldened by this strange sensation. 

Truly, truly the world has lost its meaning and sense. It was as if they were trapped, him and Sirius, in a pocket existence parallel to reality but every fundamental rule that made up the universe had been changed.

With great difficulty, Remus tore his gaze away from Sirius, and looked at the card. Plain as day, was the name ‘Sirius Lupin’ next to a picture of Sirius. This time, Remus really did drop it. 

“Wh- What are you playing at? Who are you?” Remus struggled to say as he looked at Sirius. For his part, Sirius seemed to be trying very hard not to break down himself. He opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, struggling to find the words. He had a pained expression on his face, sagging in his seat. His eyes that were reddening before had finally shed tears. Remus watched as the tear drops made their way down the plane of Sirius’ cheeks. 

Sirius made no attempt to wipe the loose tears away. Instead, he started to knead his chest with the heel of his hand, as if trying to stop the world of pain that Remus could so plainly see. His chest hitched anyway, and Remus’ heart broke for him.

Finally, when Sirius talked, it was shallow, and Remus could hear his audible breaths interspersed with his stumbling words.

“I just wanted to check if you’re okay. You haven’t come home in weeks.”

“What are you on about? I don’t live with _you_. I live on Foundry Drive. I take the no 24 bus to work. My neighbours are - ” Remus said, tripping on his words, listing the realities that he knew, that he was almost sure of.

“Lily and James Potter.” Sirius continued easily. It was the first thing he had said all night with ease. Remus gaped at him. The audacity of this man. It took all of Remus’ willpower to not deck him there and then. 

“Have you been stalking me?” Remus asked incredulously. 

“Remus …” Sirius started in a thick voice, and then at once decided against what he wanted to say, slowly shaking his head of the thought. He backed away from Remus, retreating, arms clutching his body as if to hold himself together, hunched shoulders, back bowed like he was defeated at the battle for his dignity. 

Despite the small space and the fact that Remus could very well still touch him if he wanted to, it was like there were oceans between them now. Remus didn’t know what to do. He wanted to console him, desperately not wanting to see this stranger sad for some maddening reason despite having wanted to bash his head in not one second ago. 

Stuck in the conflict, Remus took the sight before him, struggling to find the right thing to do. His eyes roved around for something that would help, a glass of water perhaps, and his eyes landed on a photo that Sirius kept in his wallet that fell in front of him when Sirius moved earlier. It was a photo of them — him, Sirius, in dinner jackets, grinning into their kiss, and proudly showing their linked hands and glinting wedding bands at the camera. 

Remus gaped at the photo, his hand moving in violation to take it out of the picture slot. He desperately wanted to drink in the thin, gruel memory of something he should have remembered through the small, incompetent window of a photograph. He turned the photo around, and the almost juvenile words scribbled in Remus’ own handwriting confirmed his conclusion;

> **_“Our wedding! 20/06/97_ **
> 
> **_R + S 4ever”_ **

Remus prayed and prayed to any listening deities for his memories to come back, but there was nothing. He could remember nothing of this event, which by any standard should be memorable despite it happening only last year. Remus wanted to scream his lungs out. Instead, instead, he stood up, went to sit beside Sirius, and pulled him into his arms. All at once, Sirius began to sob into his chest, clutching Remus’ ugly Christmas sweater desperately with his fingers like he would rather welcome death than to let go. 

In a way, Remus felt like he knew, deep down. He took a deep, pained breath, inhaling the scent of something that should be so familiar and closed his eyes. _‘My husband,’_ Remus thought desperately, tears streaming down his face. _‘I don’t remember my own husband.’_

In between the chasm, chaos, and tears, somehow, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

When morning finally came the next day, Remus woke up with Sirius sleeping peacefully on his chest, his arm draping over Remus’ waist, looking like the picture perfect definition of ‘home’. 

Not Sirius, his husband. But Sirius, a stranger that was worried about him. A supposed _stranger_ , but still knew enough that he wouldn’t have listened to the snow and ice warning. A stranger who knew that he would be snowed in. A stranger who knew he would be trapped for god knows how long with a man that was not his husband, but a man he loved and had forgotten him. Remus couldn’t figure out how long he had spent staring at this brave, wonderful man this morning. Fearing that he would be gone in the next blink of Remus’ eyes. 

An embarrassingly long time to spend staring at a stranger later, Remus managed to extract himself from Sirius and wandered off to the small pantry off the back room, to make tea and toast. 

On a hunch, Remus made Sirius a mug of Darjeeling. There was a box of it, shoved behind the stack of his Glengettie Tea tins. Remus could’ve sworn that he had never bought the Darjeeling, owing to the fact that he’d rather drink mud than let it touch his lips. But somehow it was just … there. Remus refused to let his mind wander because of this fact and instead went back to his office only to be stopped at the doorway by the sight of Sirius wide awake, perched on the sofa and eyeing Remus with wide, grey eyes.

 _‘I deserve that,’_ Remus thought, privately. Wordlessly, he stepped into the room, and handed Sirius his tea. Sirius nibbled on the toast, and drank his tea hungrily. Fair Remus supposed, remembering what he had read from the letter. 

Sipping on his tea, Remus wondered how he would approach on the subject, the elephant that was currently stomping on their chests and greedily inhaling all the air in the room, making it so, so difficult to breathe. He really didn’t want to hurt Sirius again. _No_ , more. Seeing him cry was so heart wrenchingly painful for Remus. Remus felt like he embodied all the pain that caused Sirius to hurt, all the sharp glinting knives that made Sirius break. At that thought, a cold feeling run down his spine and Remus shivered involuntarily. 

“You alright?” Sirius asked almost immediately, voice full of concern, face contorted with pain and worry. Just like that Remus had hurt Sirius again. Remus’ mouth felt dry, and he nearly didn’t manage to choke out an answer. 

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” Sirius asked again, brows furrowed uneasily. 

Remus desperately wanted to reach out and smooth them out, preferably with his lips. He nodded instead of answering aloud, as he was too busy wondering if he had gone insane as well as amnesiac. Remus had tried very hard to school his expression, the emotion displayed on his face, and failed spectacularly as Sirius had obviously noticed something and put down his mug of tea. His mug was empty Remus noticed. 

Something about the fact that Sirius obviously loved Darjeeling tugged pathetically at the empty chaos of his mind, but it was blown away as soon as Sirius turned to properly look at him. 

“Listen, I’m sorry for barging in. I shouldn’t have,” Sirius started, eyes boring into Remus’ green ones, seeking for an ounce of understanding and forgiveness that he needn't ask. Not knowing what to answer, Remus stared at him helplessly and tried to give him what he hoped was a consoling smile. 

Although, what on earth a consoling smile should look like, he wouldn’t have known. It must’ve worked at some level, Remus thought, flattering himself as Sirius ploughed on, only to say that he was sorry again, in a raspy voice, very close to tears.

Remus swallowed a mouthful of hot tea and damn near burned his throat in his relenting need to answer. Knowing full well that he could not live with himself if he made Sirius cry again. 

“Really, no worries at all. It’s not your fault. How could it even be yours? I shouldn’t have pried and read your personal correspondence,” Remus said hurriedly. But apparently, it was the wrong thing to say, because Sirius looked pushed right to the verge of tears. Penance Remus supposed, for himself. All these business of not knowing what to do, and nothing going his way. Penance, for hurting his own beloved husband who had done no wrong but to love him all these while. 

“It was my fault, Re. I didn’t realise that you’ve missed your last couple appointments. The next thing I know was Lily calling to tell me that you’ve returned home to your old flat that day after work. I should’ve known that the holidays are always hard for you, I’m so sorry Re.” Sirius said, in between sobs. 

All of his words choked out in a desolating stutter, each sound of it a sucker punch to Remus’ gut. The grimace on his face lingered and his eyes were the window to his sorrow, pain, and guilt. Slowly, Sirius moved his hand to clutch at his chest again, his telltale move to ease the pain Remus supposed. But this time Remus was ready. Remus made a grab for Sirius’ hand and laced their fingers together.

“Sirius, how could you’ve known that? You’re not a witch that could read the future. Please, stop blaming yourself. If anyone is to be blamed here it would be me. I should’ve never… I have caused you so much pain…I should’ve...” Remus’ words trailed desperately. 

Truly, truly he did not know what to do or what he should’ve done, and so he looked down at the hands intertwined with his. Beautiful slender fingers that somehow looked like they were fitting puzzle pieces against his callous, scarred hands. It was something that he supposed could not be put into words at all, so Remus brought their hands to his mouth and gently pressed a kiss to Sirius’ golden skin, desperately wanting to convey his regret, fear, and want. That he loved, it seemed, that he loved this man right in front of him even though he didn’t remember. 

When Remus looked up into Sirius’ eyes, he realised that he had finally gotten it right, because for the first time since he had set eyes on Sirius, he was smiling so brightly that he seemed to radiate his own brand of starlight. Remus kissed him again, this time on the lips. 

Again, and again, at the urge of his knowledge of his love, at the desperate need to let Sirius know the capacity in which he felt for him, so deeply, encumbering, and consuming. It was a tidal wave with all the missing pieces he had felt these past few weeks: walks to the bus he had made alone instead of together, the curious mug he found on his counter, the empty cavern on his bed made for two, and the expanse of warm, lush skin that he had missed the touch of, just beneath his fingertips. 

He truly couldn’t find the words, so he let his lips, fingers, and touch to convey his love, and so they did. 

Afterwards, they lie together, a crumpled mess of a beast who had two backs. Remus’ lips were a permanent fixture on Sirius’ skin, and his fingertips danced across the plane of Sirius’ back, exploring and wishing so hard for mercy. For enlightenment that he knew to be impossible, and his heart ached for it. Remus could only ever hope that this feeling he had would be enough to reinvent the concept of love other mortals hold on to.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely [Alex](https://useless-slytherclaw.tumblr.com/) who have helped me beta this fic <3
> 
> ***
> 
> Footnote:
> 
> Title is a line from the poem _Les feuilles mortes_ (Autumn leaves//The dead leaves) by Jacques Prévert
> 
> The other poem Sirius was reading is _Comprenne qui voudra_ (Understand who will want) by Paul Éluard. It's a wonderful poem that's against uh slut shaming girls. 
> 
> Britain calls their private schools "public"
> 
> 'The Way Up to Heaven' is a macabre short story by Roald Dahl in which the wife left his husband stuck in a broken lift in their home while she went to visit their daughter across the country.
> 
> ***
> 
> When I was writing this, I was thinking about the uncertainty of love and the myriad of ways of how people come to be in love. Some with terrible suddenness, some quicker than falling asleep. This is what I'm trying to explore with the beginning and the ending of this fic, and (hopefully - without sounding too pretentious that is), have not too terribly manage to convey.
> 
> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated and loved x
> 
> Tumblr: [rosemaldrge](https://rosemaldrge.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
